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Personal Note:

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Poem

I feel unsafe
beneath all these
layers of thick
Irish wool and
long, patterned socks.

No matter
how many times
I wrap my hands
around the same cup 
of tea, my fingers
tremble with uncertainty.

As if making myself
feel-better pancakes
and listening to 
Matty Healy bleed through
my speakers is having
every unthought negative
effect on my brain.

As if I understand, deep down,
that this Breathe Deep tea
won’t eradicate the drugs
from my lungs and that 
this Irish sweater my sister
bought me isn’t keeping
me cosy because for that
My mind needs to be at peace.

And this indescribable feeling
of absolute despondency is
seeping through cracks in my 
porcelain I thought had long ago
sealed themselves with the 
glue of misuse. There’s a listless
knowing in the back of my 
mouth choking my words and 
gagging my throat until I hope to puke.

This tea is tepid and my cat has
finally come inside from the onslaught
of snow behind my home’s walls
and I am still so unsure of 
myself and how to keep my 
own snowstorm behind the walls
I’ve so carefully set up inside my head.
But now the snow is coming down
hard enough to blind my sight 
and freeze my hands and I still feel so unsafe.

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